I got hold of Arthur after Peter Gabriel discovered him in the mid-‘90s. So I listened intently to his early albums and they were good, just like Gabriel said they were. Starting with Gabriel’s Real World Label, he toured extensively, came out with an EP, then Virgin Records’ Come to Where I’m From, and then Redemption’s Son, where he hit his stride and created perhaps his most popular tune, “Honey and the Moon.” Our Shadows Remain the Same came out in ’04 and now, with Nuclear Daydream, on his newly-minted Lonely Astronaut label, he continues his musical successes. It is not his best album it, but nevertheless, is worth a listen for the somber slow-moving numbers, “Don’t Give Up on People,” for instance, and the title song. They present Arthur at his finest. Other songs he tries to sing falsetto and it fails. Unfortunately, you listen to a couple good songs, then hit a bump in the road with a bad one and, therefore, ruins the cohesion of the album as a whole. The album can get a hold on you though and after each playing, the listener discovers something new. [www.josepharthur.com]

Don’t you dare call them Christian rock. Warner Brothers knows this now after New Orleans-based MuteMath filed suit when they, along with Teleprompt Records, filed suit against Warner Bros claiming breach of contract and negligent misrepresentation in regards to them being “Christian Rock.” They’re not. They, do, however, rock. The singer, Paul Meany, formerly of the Christian rock group Earthsuit (hence all the legal fuss), combines with Darren King (drums), Greg Hill (guitar), and Roy Mitchell-Cardenas (bass), to create solid rock-and-roll ready for big arenas, if their fans will come, and they should because MuteMath, god damn, knows how to throw down the tunes. Think U2 without the wrap around sunglasses and lemon songs. Sometimes, unsure how far to push the sonic envelope, they cater to their lowest common demonimator, i.e. bland contemporary rock that a baker’s dozen of bands are already creating. Sometimes. though, they do push forward (“Break the Same,” “Plan B,” Radiohead-esque “Reset”) sending out inspired tunes over the airwaves. God bless them. [www.mutemath.com]

The themes of love and loss and slew of characters who litter the songs on Everybody Has a Dark Side are nothing new; the venerable raconteurs Tom Waits, Bob Dylan, Johnny Cash, and the rest of the gamut of America's greatest songwriters have delivered these in an almost cloying fashion over the past half-century. The Theater Fire, however, take a new approach to the familiar, entwining the haunts of life and the dusty road into a rambling sophomore album that pulls from the seemingly disparate roots of that mish-mash we call Americana--rock, country, folk, gospel, zydeco. The Fort Worth, TX band finds itself in the same company as Calexico, Lambchop, Smog, and to a stretch, Crooked Fingers. The dual leadership of Don Feagin and Curtis Heath aids the septet's skillful mélange of dark thematics and humorous anecdotes through the solemn, twangy "Kicking Up the Darkness" and the mariachi-centric "Fiddleback Weaver." "Valentwine" is a country ode to a fuck-up's relationship woes, and "Dark Side" doesn't miss its chance to play on the Star Wars connotation, "Even Darth Vader was a child/and his anger made him wild/the light was lost inside him." "Land of Nod" pulls its verses from the prose of Robert Louis Stevenson's poem of the same name, backing it with carefree guitar plucking and brass. Texas through and through, Everybody Has a Dark Side traverses lots of worn paths, but does so all on its own horse. Download "Kicking Up The Darkness" [here] [www.thetheaterfire.com]

You'll find State Bird traipsing on the land bridge that connects Page France to Animal Collective, with a plethora of thrift store instruments (kazoos, shakers, recorders) and woodland tendencies. Marching Thru the Wilderness is too joyous and cheerful-sounding to really fall under the "freak-folk" strain of things, sounding like Snow White's dwarves with a predilection for marching band drums and "la la" mantras. The band is almost too precious for description, but can crank out a song that's almost totally goofball (the title track, and its chattery, faux-falsetto "We sing a song in your direction/we hope that heaven gets good reception") and then turn right around and drop the more somber tones of "Have I Forgot." There's a lot of stuff going on these days in this vein, especially with a Christian bent. I don't know the low-down on the band's faith, but songs like "He Is the Light" are a good indication of what they're feeling. Set 'em up with Daniel Smith, Sufjan and Michael Nau, because that's where State Bird seems to be flying. [www.therecordmachine.net]

It's rare to find a one-of-a-kind band these days; Moneybrother captures the originality that eludes so many modern musical acts, and manages to do in a six-song course (a compilation of three singles and their respective b-sides, apparently) what most bands fail to do throughout an entire career. Anders Wendin was once the frontman for Swedish punk rock group Monster, but now under the moniker Moneybrother, the vocalist brings together relatively large ensembles for a voracious display of ornate songwriting, the kind that can't possibly fit into any box, no matter how marketable. For me, I'd tell someone that the title track sounds like Burt Bacharach on crystal meth. The song's strings (three violins, a viola and a cello) sweep at an enormous speed, and the three-piece brass section only adds to the orchestral layering. Other tracks ("Reconsider Me" and "Feelings, Getting Stronger In the Night", namely) make me want to draw a comparison to Springsteen, though Wendin has a much wider vocal range than The Boss has displayed. "Strange Is the Night" and "Bum Fucked (For Sure)" are excursions into '60s American soul music. Very, very cool. Download "Reconsider Me" [here] [www.sabotproductions.net]

The Scourge of the Sea is either playing against archetype on their new album, Make Me Armored, or exactly to it. Lo-fi alternative meets upbeat folk music, yoked tenuously to cynical love songs. There’s no politics here, just a lovelorn melancholy, but the folk roots (far from Simon & Garfunkel, regardless of the lyrics,( “Goodbye darkness, my old friend”) are what sell this act. Jaded, but not jagged, the album is surprisingly sweet, even though the poetics are often cliché (“your summer eyes were full of grace”), cryptic (“but I tied my love to the paper bag and I tied a jackal to my leg”), saccharine (“my sweet one hurts when she goes down my throat/my sweet one is a thirty-two ounce coke”), or all three at once. But hey, if the songs stay light even when the material gets dark, then so can I. “Smitten Kitten” is a perfect example of how the their types mesh together until they are a dreamcatcher of sound. Meanwhile, a track like “Hookers” is a testament to the playful stoicism of the band. As they sing about how “my lovers/they are hookers/selling of their fingers/telling me I linger/tying off my hands,” there’s an intense upbeat swing, complete with a classic acoustic flourish. The effect is that of a country ballad that has lost its melodrama and instead found a soul: in this case, in a violin. This is poetic deadpan with a pinch of sordidness (“You plastered up the door/you called my love a whore”). “My Sweet One” achieves a lighter denouement and an almost comic trill with lines like “was it goodbye or go/was it how I just stayed in bed/there’s nothing so sweet as just not being dead,” and starts to take on the rhythms of the Barenaked Ladies. The more melancholy tracks, with UK tonalities, are a bit too low-key for their own good. “Referee” is a stripped-down metaphor for perception, and while a succinct story, it’s not a gripping narrative nor is it a catchy song. Luckily, Make Me Armored does more to jangle lyrics and dangle emotion than to force an explicit mood, and taken as a whole, parodying bonus song included, The Scourge of the Sea has put together a decent album. [www.thescourgeofthesea.com]

When Absolute Punk publishes a review touting a mediocre score for a pop-punk release, you know it's gotta be pretty bad. Mayday Parade's Tales Told By Dead Friends would be titled more appropriately as Songs Already Sung By a Bunch of Other Bands Who Sucked From the Start But Got Signed Anyway Because They're An Easy Sell To Impressionable Kids; if you're a high schooler who thinks that the sun rises and sets on Fall Out Boy and the slew of one-dimensional, infantile bands who flew into the limelight as Creed and Nickelback started to descend, you'll be able to stomach it. Maybe. I asked someone what they thought of this, and he summed it up by telling me that Mayday Parade has a line in their song that goes, "Girls make boys cry." I couldn't make it past track three, and only that far because I had already turned the volume low enough, opting instead to concentrate on how many teenage girls this band has as friends on Myspace. I'm sure it's more than I have. I bet it's a shit-ton. And I'd say that this release is a ton of shit. Fodder for the post-New Found Glory cash-in. Fearless Records: You've had At the Drive-In, you've had The Aquabats. What's with this? *Note: The 0.2 score for this release was based on the fact that it's an EP, meaning I wasted less time listening to it than I would have had it been a full-length record. Had the latter scenario been the case, a whopping 0.0 would have been the final judgment. I'm making this one a coaster for my chocolate milk and root beer. [www.fearlessrecords.com]

As far as more modern "punk rock" goes, there are few groups whose sound can fully be traced to the genre's forefathers; numerous groups talk the talk about being "'77" punk rock, but unfortunately those bands tend to be watered-down, uninteresting semi-clones. More often than not, they're devoid of substance and musicianship. The Exploding Hearts are one of few in recent years who've made us wonder how they would have fared in punk's heyday. Certainly you've heard the band's name in passing somewhere, right? The Portland-based quartet dropped Guitar Romantic in 2003, and months later an automobile accident took three of the four members' lives. In the wake of the band's demise, the single album left behind garnered an even larger following than when The Exploding Hearts still existed, and the fervor finally prompted Dirtnap Records to release Shattered, a collection of the band's singles, alternate versions, etc. The band's staple sound is steeped almost exclusively in the past--In the City-era The Jam, The Undertones (think "Get Over You"), early Buzzcocks and certainly power-pop master Nick Lowe. With fuzzy, simple guitars and youthful heartache at the group's nucleus, the songs on Guitar Romantic were instantly lovable as memorable. Unfortunately, the short-lived band never made it huge--where they were headed, easily--but the small catalog of material is enough to deem as "classic." Here, the title track ("Shattered (You Left Me") stands as one of The Exploding Hearts' best, less snotty and less amp-ed up than much of Guitar Romantic, but still maintaining Adam Cox's goofy, bubblegum lyrics ("you left me stranded/you left me shattered, baby). "So Bored" moves through its chords in the same progression as "Just Like Heaven," while the alternate versions of Guitar Romantic differ little, for the most part, from their album counterparts. In fact, six of the ten tracks from the band's debut appear on Shattered in a slightly different form, but as this is all we're gonna get from the band, no complaints allowed. '77 or the 2000s; either way, The Exploding Hearts could have and would have been one of the greats, regardless of era. Shattered is the band's last breath, the final pieces of a short-lived legacy coming out of the woodwork, and it serves as a reminder of how simplicity and youth in music can still translate into magic without beckoning for attention. Download "(Making) Teenage Faces" [www.explodinghearts.com]

The curse of The Windy City: breeding bands that had the chance to be huge if they'd come along a decade earlier. Case in point: Four Star Alarm. I've engaged in brief discourse before on how excellent Thick Records' roster is; The Tossers (though they've since left) are the prime Irish punk band in America, The Methadones deserve the excess attention that's been thrown at Green Day for years, and Hanalei is the maturing punk's segue into Americana. Four Star Alarm's debut EP is chock-full of melodic grit, a voracious foray into Hüsker Dü-esque (New Day Rising-era) rock. Straight-forward, with fast guitars and songwriting that, while admirable, doesn't seek out much that's not on the beaten path. "Waste Away" and "Implode" are laudable (but middle-of-the-road), roughed-up pop-punk numbers, with big radio-friendly choruses. "Breathe In" almost sounds like Boysetsfire's Nathan Gray trying to sing for a collaboration between Small Brown Bike and the Casket Lottery, and for the most part, it works. Definitely not the best Thick has to offer, but as we all know, the EP is quite the inaccurate guage. And if we were living in the days of early Hot Water Music and Samiam at their prime, Four Star Alarm would be in a different league. [www.thickrecords.com]

Keeping up with the modern world of ska and reggae is nearly impossible unless it's the central style of your music collection, and while One Night Band isn't a leftover from the third wave ska revival of the '90s, their scene isn't one readily stumbled upon. Way Back Home is a Stomp Records release, a Canadian-based label (and part of the Union Label Group) that has more than a few names you may recognize--The Planet Smashers, The Know How, Bedouin Soundclash, The Toasters. It's these die-hards that are keeping the scene alive, and One Night Band delivers a solid album that does little to progress its scene, but definitely doesn't keep it idling. As I said, the band owes nothing to the revivalism of a decade ago, instead preferring to go straight to the heart and soul of its chosen genre--Marley, Ken Boothe, Prince Buster, etcetera--the poppier side of the Jamaica/England fusion. It's a fun affair, and one of those records where if you like one song, you'll be into the whole thing. The requisite multi-piece brass section, the smooth bass grooves, and vocal interplay of the entire band (save for drummer Eric Morin) isn't the most original thing to skank across the border, but it's another reminder that while trends die, the true believers will be there 'til the end. Download "So Low" [www.stomprecords.com]

Wolf Eyes' maniacal noise-mongering and free jazz sax swilling is in full effect on Human Animal, and as the disc runs its eight-song course, the album can get downright nauseating. A record that lacks almost every element requisite to most folks' definition of music is bound to send most reeling, and that's where Wolf Eyes continues to excel. The title track's opening mish-mash of sound parallels metal on metal and nails on a chalkboard, with dinosaurs shambolically fumbling through the leftovers. Download "The Driller" [www.subpop.com]

Many years into its existence, the band formerly known as Marshmallow Coast has released what could arguably be the strongest of its career. Central songwriter Andy Gonzales has an arm that can (if it must) be linked to the whole Elephant 6 thing, which can be an unfair label, because in a lot of people's minds it can conjure up ideas of sub-par versions of The Apples or Of Montreal, which is far from accurate. Say It In Slang is kaleidoscopic, friendly pop, layering its melodies with many a flute or saxaphone or trombone--but never to excess or exhibition. Gonzales' training in jazz guitar lends itself to the songs' avoidance of cliché, employing heights of musicianship that aren't show-offy but add elements that you rarely find amongst the collective's other notables. One aspect which I think sets M Coast apart is that they're not up in your face--whereas Kevin Barnes or Bob Schneider have an overwhelming presence, Gonzales (or whoever may be lead on any particular song) tends to be content lurking in the background, not yearning to be the center of attention. Oh, and the fact that they just don't sound like the rest--it's all the elements you expect, delivered in a different parcel, a jazzier one, and sometimes bordering on muzak (the airy flute leads). Rarely do you come across a pop album shaded in so many hues, or so adverse to formula, but if you're going to find that this year, Say It In Slang is it. Download "Sailing Around the World" [www.hhbtm.com]

Walk Into the Light finds Communiqué soaring to even greater heights in the world of keyboard-driven power pop. Transcending all former material in terms of songwriting and replayability, the EP is much more dance-ready than the band's debut album Poison Arrows, which came out early on in Lookout! Records' slow demise. "Sad Little Valentine" opens with a start/stop jangle guitar line as Steve Loewinsohn's keys innocently romp around the melody; "Got Your Number" has proud gang vocals backing the disc's most rocking song, as Rory Henderson sets his crosshairs on the substance-free "cake and ice cream" bands "moving units," whose success "don't make it right." All in all, these former American Steel members have yet another solid release, and this time they won't let any label problems stand in their way. Download "The Sad Valentine" Download "Got Your Number" [www.sabotproductions.net]

So Gone is so fucking here that it's astounding. It's My Morning Jacket and The Flaming Lips channeled through Cap'n Jazz, or Jeff Mangum fronting Broken Social Scene while on crack and acid, or a hundred other bloated comparisons I could make that truly do none of the parties involved justice. But as Evangelicals hail from Oklahoma, the Lips reference is near-unavoidable, and So Gone plays on the neo-psychedelic pop and florid arrangements that aren't quite as adroitly executed by many of Evangelicals contemporaries. Sometimes floating, sometimes tearing through the flower bed on the way to the bird bath, So Gone is a masterful debut. Download "Here Comes Trouble" Download "Another Day" [www.misrarecords.com]

After a five year gap, Bigwig returns to the punk scene with the aptly titled Reclamation, reclaiming fans and territory with this punchy punk return. The band maintains their skate-punk flair and ska tendencies. From fist-pumping anthems to politics, this album ticks all the right boxes. The first track, "War Inside," is old-school thumping drums wailing guitar, and the chorus of “I’ve always sworn, that I won’t conform/ and I refuse to suffer anymore.” The album maintains the guitar/bass/drums feel of good old fashion punk, and lyrics that would satiate any punk. This song is all punk, from the pop-angled "Rat Race," down to the staccato drumming and shouting of "Last Song, Last Call." These are songs that bruise elbows, egos, and ribs. This band, somehow just below the radar (maybe it’s all that time off), also spawned punksters Near Miss. Despite a few changes in the old lineup, Bigwig has hopefully settled into one that's keepable. Less conventionally poppy than previous albums, Reclamation is sure to claim a spot in punk rock hearts everywhere. As long as Bigwig doesn’t leave another big gap between albums. [myspace.com]

Imagine the combined voices of Bjork and Tori Amos trapped in the body of Lilly Allen and you’re halfway into the world of Bat For Lashes. Brighton-based Natasha Khan, the singer/songwriter with the nom de plume Bat for Lashes, matches all three of these contemporaries on eccentricity. Natasha describes her music as “like a gun that fires wolves” and cites "weather phenomena" and "childhood Halloween parties" as among her greatest influences. These quirky elements sound like trite sound bites until you actually listen to the music within Fur and Gold, which almost instantly takes you to a place finely balanced between nightmare and beauty. Bat For Lashes create an evocative and enchanted nocturnal realm transporting you into a world mid way between sleeping and waking. Her debut single, ‘"The Wizard / I Saw A Light," was self released in May as a 7” and instantly sold out. The song itself, one of the highlights of the album, comes across like a sweeping post modern version of Kate Bush’s , all electronic resonance and otherworldly whispered vocals. Natasha also immerses herself in a dreamlike world when on stage, characterising herself somewhere between a feral forest creature and a child playing dress up. Covered in war paint and sporting an Indian headdress it comes as no surprise that she was a performance artist before turning her hand to music. There is something about the songs that make me recall the strange Finnish children’s show "The Moomins," as if whilst listening I half expect to be carried away by small Scandinavian trolls in a haze of surreal emotive angst. This thought is echoed entirely by Natasha herself as her journey into music apparently began when, in a dream, she had a visitation from a black horse. The horse, on arriving at her window ledge, swept her away into the night. The resulting song "Horse and I" is the opening track on her debut album entitled Fur and Gold. A not completely unique, but deceptively engrossing, collection of haunted storytelling driven by a brooding and enigmatic voice. [www.batforlashes.co.uk]

For music loosely based around rabbits and psychedelic desert culture, I’ve heard worse. In fact, the first few songs had me wondering if exhibiting peyote influenced behavior and wearing a bunny tail could be good things. “Waiting in the Kountry” is a surprisingly polished desert epic replete with audio trimmings worthy of a John Wayne film. “Bloody Bunnies” is an oddly addicting and pulsating wreck of a dance song that supposedly addresses superficiality. Sure, I’ll buy it. The problem with the ultra-novelty of the album is how quickly it can all go bad. Really bad. I can deal with spelling words with the letter “K” instead of “C” in song titles, but my tolerance turns tail and runs at the first dose of monotone nasal chanting, beautifully illustrated by the aggravating “Charlie’s Kids.” I don’t know a heck of a lot about Gram Rabbit. But they are hell-bent on rabbits, bunnies and hares. The songs are full of rabbit references and the album artwork has the lead singer adorned in large bunny ears. Her name is Jessica Rabbit, by the way. Whether or not that’s a stage name, I’m not sure. Whether or not you’ll like the album “Cultivation,” I’m not sure either. If you get a bunny-sized kick out of rabbitanic songwriting, you may be just the niche Gram Rabbit is trying to fill. [www.gramrabbit.com]

Too brash for country, too acoustic for rock, and too poetic for pop, Roman Candle is a perfect fit for the firework it is named for. There's a mellow outer shell, occasionally amplified by synthesizers (but never lost in them) but Skip Matheny's crooning is just casing for the subtle mechanics underneath. Words that slide within one another like gloves, twang-heavy chords that shuffle off the drum beats, and a powerful storytelling rhythm that should propel this vibrant musical explosion to the top of the charts. Growing up, finding love, and facing regret are the populist themes of their new album, The Wee Hours Revue, and led by the Southern twang of three guitars, a piano, and drums, Roman Candle is a bright-burning series of wry and melodic songs about the dusty blues. For instance, talking about an ex who may have cheated on him, there's just the dusky refrain, "so if you're lying down next to another, then girl I tip my hat." This is coupled with a brilliant beauty of taut images, like the line "Well I never thought we'd build our love of rags and bones and nails/i know sometimes my words come out like empty shotgun shells." Music and emotion -- it IS possible to have both. With their languid, sun-baked approach, tracks like "I Can't Even Recall," might tell a similar story to other songs, like "Another Summer," but each is so cool and mannered that they're endlessly entertaining instead. This well-planned approach might stem from Roman Candle's experience as a cog shelved by the Hollywood music machine--it has aged them well. From the contemplativeness of the lyrics, to the patient strums of the guitar and the thoughtful echo of the vintage studio recording, it all holds up rather well. Even though a few of the later songs seem to wash out in sonic waves ("Help Me If You Can"), the majority of their instrumental segues are dead on (as in "Sookie"). Tracks like "I've Got a Reason" strike a fine balance between surface rhythm and melodic depth, and in "Winterlight," the merging of harmonica with synthesized harmonics has an almost epic effect. Let Roman Candle, the gently blowing firecracker, be a reminder to musicians everywhere: a soft but insistent touch will always trump an aimless amp. [www.romancandlemusic.com]

Methinks Portland, OR's Agalloch doth try a little too hard to classify themselves. The press sheet accompanying their newest release, Ashes Against the Grain, labels them everything in the world but a jugband: "gothic doom, black metal, neo-folk, post rock, and industrial/ambient soundscapes". The only word I found that fits, however, is "brooding". Chock full of chugging, fuzzy guitars and nine-and-a-half minute songs titled "Fire Above, Ice Below" and "This White Mountain on Which You Will Die," the record broods better than that kid in the Smiths shirt you had Intro to Poetry Writing with. You will be shocked to learn, however, that lying within the spacy guitar-driven rock and roll, there is a giant lizard monster. The singer chokes and gurgles his way throughout this hour-long epic, oblivious to the change in demeanor the rest of the act has been through. What results is an album of attractive white-noisy heavy rock constantly trying to recover from overly brutal vocals. [www.agalloch.org]

Holland’s swell. Without it? We’d be without wooden clogs…and good music, too. Safe Home is the band that was spawned after the breakup of the Nightblooms. It is comprised of ethereal vocalist Esther Sprikkelman and guitarist Harry Otten, with a little help from some friends and the album is beautiful, quiet, warm, like the the Cranberries sitting in easy chairs looking over a Netherlands tulip field. [www.angelsinspace.com]